Cat didn't register the cold this time. She strode down the sidewalk just shy of a sprint. Thoughts whirled through her mind without pausing long enough for her to grasp them. Snippets of long-ago conversations with Faith through their bond mixed with images from the conference room.
"What's wrong, little cat?" Faith's voice was a soft caress, and Cat closed her eyes and let it wrap around her. "I can feel you thinkin' too hard."
Cat didn't want to talk about her day. Or why she was thinking too hard. "Why do we always talk about me? We never talk about you. I don't even know where you live. Where do you live, Faith?"
"Ah, Cat. That ain't important." For a second, Cat thought Faith was going to go away and she panicked. "Hey, don't do that. I'm still here. I'll always be here, remember? We're bonded. You belong to me, little cat, and don't you forget it."
"I haven't, Faith," Cat whispered to that long-ago Faith. "I remember everything." But Faith didn't. Faith hadn't recognized her. Faith hadn't kept her promise. The dark street blurred and Cat swiped impatiently at her eyes. Crying hadn't solved any problem, ever.
Nothing would ever help her. Maybe she could forget for a few hours, though. She just needed some space. A chance to get her feelings under control.
Pausing under a streetlight, Cat looked for a cab. There were usually a few cruising near the station house.
Cat shoved two twenties into the cabbie's hand. "We're good," she told him, too intent on entering the club to care that she'd grossly overpaid for the ride. Without waiting for his response to her generosity, she jogged across the sidewalk.
The lingering snow was lit by the pulsing red neon lights of the sign over the door. "9th Circle" flashed in deep crimson, highlighted by the flicker of faux flames wrapped around the pitchfork underneath. There was no line outside this late. Nor were there groups clustered just inside when Cat opened the door. A single bouncer took Cat's cover charge and waved her inside, and she detoured long enough to secure her gun in the locker she maintained in the women's changing room.
The open club room was nearly pitch. Sullen red lights leaked from covered lanterns spaced at intervals along the wall. Choking odors of sulphur and sex wafted through the air. It was familiar yet not comforting. It wasn't designed to be. Cat scanned the recesses where private tables and sitting areas provided views of the public play areas. Most of them were empty. It was very late. Most club members would be upstairs in the rentable suites or home enjoying their partners for the night. The only men and women left were as desperate as Cat.
Desperate meant dangerous. Dominants and submissives with nothing left to lose because they'd already lost everything.
Taking off her jacket, Cat made a show of turning back the right sleeve of her shirt. The red leather cuff on her wrist, the mark of one whose bond had been broken, was easier to see now. It was an open invitation to any Dominant in the room – and it didn't take long for them to approach.
Cat waved the first off before he even got close. No men. Not even now.
The next Dominant, though… Short, slender, muscled. Her eyes spoke of the same pain Cat endured. It would be enough. It had to be enough, for tonight at least. Cat dropped to her knees and bowed her head. "Mistress," she said, just loud enough to be heard over the soundtrack of whip cracks and lightening playing in the room.
She had barely registered the hard concrete under her knees when the Domme grabbed Cat by the hair and pulled her to her feet. With shoves and a few sharp slaps, Cat was driven to a chain station at the very center of the club room. Even better. No privacy meant no real talking. No chance to exchange life's horror stories and form even a remote connection with her Mistress for the night.
"Strip," the woman ordered.
Cat had done this often enough that she didn't hesitate. Not even the gathering crowd kept her from quickly removing her clothes and tossing them onto the floor near the Domme.
The woman took a few seconds to examine Cat closely before she moved Cat into position. Cat kept her eyes lowered as her wrists were buckled into lined leather cuffs. She didn't object as those cuffs were attached to the chains dangling from the ceiling.
A few cranks of the pulley wheel had Cat balancing on the balls of her feet. She waited there as the Dominant retrieved a toy bag from underneath a table. Even in the dark club, Cat recognized a deerskin flogger and a short snake whip, and her skin twitched in anticipation.
The toys went on a low table next to Cat's position, and the Domme returned to Cat. Warm hands ran over her shoulders, traced her spine. They moved around to her front, pinching and pulling at her nipples. It hurt. Cat arched into the pain. Pain was good. Pain pushed the memories away.
This time, though, it didn't work. Her body betrayed her. There was no soft, hazy subspace. No rhythm of pain and pleasure to hide in. She felt the woman pause. God, she'd realized there was a problem. Cat cursed; she couldn't let this slip away. Pretending an arousal she didn't feel, Cat let her head drop back. Groaned for effect. "Mistress, please…"
The woman still hesitated. Her touch gentled. No! That wasn't what Cat wanted or needed tonight. Rolling her shoulders so the chains rattled, Cat looked over her shoulder and deliberately met the Domme's eyes. She challenged the woman silently even as she used the little leverage provided by her feet to move away from the tender touches. A raise of an eyebrow, a twist of her lips. Without a single word, Cat mocked the Domme's instinctive knowledge that Cat wasn't in the right headspace to play.
The woman's lips tightened noticeably, and she stepped back. The flogger came off the table and moved sinuously through the air. Cat closed her eyes, listening to the soft sound of leather pattering against the concrete floor. The first blow was so light that it felt like a massage. One, two, three, four… Each strand hit in a steady, separate pattern. That pattern, and the predictable movement from right shoulder, left shoulder, right buttock, left buttock sucked at Cat. The Domme was good - just not quite good enough to force Cat over the edge. Cat pressed back into the flogger. She willed her mind to let go.
Instead, it kept churning. She remembered.
Tara's hand stroked Faith's hair lightly before she opened the case file on her lap. Slender fingers. They'd lifted the slight curls in Faith's hair, teased at her scalp. And Faith had responded. She'd nuzzled her cheek into Tara's knee.
Cat snapped back to the present as the Domme added more force to the flogger. Her skin began to burn now. A sunburn spreading from shoulders to upper thighs. She writhed against the chains. God, it hurt. She'd never done this without being in subspace, without finding a connection with the Dominant. By now, she should be flying high on endorphins, pain mixing with pleasure as she and the Domme worked together to meet their respective needs. Give and take.
It wasn't happening tonight. Probably not ever again. Faith was here, in Boston. In Cat's life; although, not in the role she'd imagined. All of Cat's hope was gone. She couldn't pretend that the woman behind her was Faith they way she had for the last fifteen years. Faith was real. Unfortunately, Faith was with Tara.
The pain inside matched and then outstripped the pain in Cat's back. The snake whip couldn't hold a candle to giving up on her dreams. Cat quit struggling. She slumped in the chains accepting the whipping – and the pain. This scene was toxic. Rather than end it, though, Cat decided that someone should get what she needed tonight. The Domme laying careful stripes up and down her back was hurting, too. No one came to the Ninth Circle without their own emotional baggage.
Giving a series of breathy moans, Cat mimicked arousal. "More, Mistress. Please."
The Domme didn't immediately respond to Cat's plea. The whip actually stopped, and Cat whimpered as the woman pressed close to her back. Rough leather scraped along the raised welts and bruises. "You mark beautifully, girl." Tracing along Cat's jaw, the Domme stroked and caressed her breasts and stomach. Two fingers tugged Cat's pubic hair. "Do you really want more? You've already taken more than most subs here. We never discussed limits."
Tears threatened. Ah, God. This Domme wasn't doing what Cat expected. She was paying attention, making sure she took care of Cat's needs. "I'm fine, Mistress. Just…no blood or permanent marks," Cat whispered through trembling lips. "Nothing that will show outside of my clothes tomorrow."
"Your safeword is 'red", girl. Use it if I go too far." The Domme kissed and then licked Cat's shoulder before she moved away. The next time she swung the whip, Cat bit her lips to hold in her scream. Fire blazed with each new mark. Her world narrowed until only the agony remained. Time had no meaning. The scene could have continued an hour or a year. Cat couldn't tell. She also didn't register when the whipping stopped until the Domme kissed her. She'd shed her vest and shirt; her pants were open and shoved down muscled thighs.
One of the Domme's hands reached for Cat's pussy. "No, Mistress." There was no way the Domme would miss her lack of real arousal. "Please. Let me take care of you first." Cat nipped at the woman's lips and tongue; thrust her hips out to press into the woman's crotch. "Let me down, Mistress. Let me make you feel good."
She thought she might have pushed too hard when the Domme stepped away. "No. We do this my way, girl." The whip cracked, catching Cat painfully on the thigh before the woman tossed the braided leather away. She walked behind Cat and pulled her hips back. Cat obligingly tightened her ass muscles as the woman rubbed and thrust into her. Cat felt the slickness of the Domme's arousal coat her skin and timed her counterthrusts for maximum effect.
In seconds, the woman groaned and shuddered. She leaned into Cat for a moment as Cat hung in her chains.
"Mistress, would you please let me down?" Cat needed to go. This scene had done nothing more than leave her hurting and even more aware of having no "place" where she belonged.
"What about you?" Again, the Domme won points for wanting to care for Cat.
It just wasn't what Cat needed. "Couldn't you tell, Mistress?" Cat struggled with the lie. It was so wrong and broke the rules of honesty and trust that were the hallmark of Dom/sub relationships. "I came when you did."
By the time she was free and redressed, Cat wanted to curl up in a ball and cry. And sleep a little. She had to be back at the station house in a few hours. Right now, Cat couldn't spot a clue if it was tied up in a neat bow. No matter what else happened in life, the Job would still be there in the morning. Being a detective was all Cat had left now.
Another cab ride got her home. Cat left her clothes in a pile on the floor and stepped into the shower. The odor of the club and the memory of the woman thrusting against her lingered in Cat's mind. A hot shower helped even if it made her skin burn more. She finally climbed into bed, tired in both mind and body.
Cat's cell phone buzzed, and she reached out to grab it from the nightstand. "McClearen," she mumbled.
"Time to get up, Sleeping Beauty." Korsak sounded grim. "We've got another body in front of St. Peter's church in your old stomping grounds. Frost and I are on the way to pick you up. We'll be there in ten."
The line went dead. Cat stared at the phone for a minute before pulling herself out of bed. Last night had been a monumental mistake. Her body was one big ache. The skin on her back pulled with every breath. The pressure of her bra on the battered flesh was torture, and even the brush of her softest polo shirt was like sandpaper.
Cat downed four Advil and four Tylenol with a glass of orange juice. She'd live.